


Unchained

by TooOftenObsessed



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Belts, Dom/sub, Drift Compatibility, Established Relationship, Ghost Drifting, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Mind Control, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Simultaneous Orgasm, Spanking, Subspace, The Drift (Pacific Rim), True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooOftenObsessed/pseuds/TooOftenObsessed
Summary: The scene from Uprising where Hermann drags Newt into a hallway goes a little bit differently. Hermann notices something wrong with Newt and decides it's up to him to correct the problem.





	Unchained

**Author's Note:**

> I made a random Twitter post that became my most popular tweet ever: "AU where Hermann yanks Newt into that hallway, sees him wearing that collar chain and all his healthy ex relationship boundaries go out the window. He goes full Dom and BREAKS it and Doms the aliens out of Newt's head with extreme prejudice"
> 
> This is that fic. Thanks to everyone on Twitter who hassled me to write this; you made me believe in myself. Thanks to the incomparable GloriaVictoria for being my beta reader and nudging me to leave my comfort zone. I'm frankly pretty nervous to share this, as I've never actually cared quite so much about getting a fic RIGHT. Enjoy.

Dr. Newton Geiszler jogs down the stairs, muttering under his breath, trying to remain calm. He’s running out of time to fix this drone situation before it gets completely out of hand and Shao finally fires him. A lackey shouts at him in Mandarin and Newt tries to answer, his Chinese still stubbornly mediocre. A hand shoots out from an adjoining hallway and grips Newt firmly by the shoulder, dragging him around a corner and out of the chaotic throng of people.

“Hermann, what - what are you doing here? How did you get in here?!” Of all the people Newt might have expected to turn up at Shao Industries, Hermann Gottlieb absolutely bottomed the list. 

“Newton, I  _ do _ have PPDC credentials. Besides…” Hermann’s voice trails off as his gaze catches on Newt’s chest. Almost as if in a trance, Hermann raises his left hand and, palm up, lightly lifts the chain peeking out from between the collar of Newt’s shirt with his index and middle fingers. “What is  _ this _ ?”

“It’s just a, it’s just...?” Newt swallows thickly, unable to understand either Hermann’s sudden fascination or his own rising sense of shame. “It’s a collar stay, a  _ fashion accessory _ , Hermann? Maybe you’ve heard that some people like to make an effort with their appearance?” Newt frowns a little and looks away; that came out sounding more vicious than he’d intended it to.

“Newton, look at me.” Hermann’s voice is calm but firm, and when Newt does not immediately comply, he takes Newt by the chin. Newton greatly appreciates the added layer of distance his rosy sunglasses provide him; meeting Hermann’s dark eyes makes him feel as if his brain is being torn in two. “Has someone tried to lay claim to you?” Newton tries to look away again but, Hermann’s hand darts up to roughly grip his face, forcing him to maintain eye contact. Newt lets out a weak laugh.

“Haha, man, you must think I’m a lot busier than I actually am; Shao’s got me working day and night. No time for fun, you know how it goes.” Newt wrinkles his nose to fight back the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Why does saying that feel like a lie?

“I think you know that you," Hermann continues speaking as if Newt had said nothing. He releases his chin to let all four fingers slip beneath the chain and tighten, "belong to  _ me. _ " Newt’s breath catches in his throat and he feels another biting remark slip unbidden past his lips.

“Right, keep telling yourself that, Hermann. Whatever helps you sleep at night, right? Whatever keeps the  _ nightmares _ at bay? I’m ‘yours,’ that’s fucking funny, dude.” Newt hears the crack before he feels the burning pain blossom across the side of his face. 

“Oh, you find me amusing, do you?” Hermann has his hand readied for another slap, his jaw working with fury. His eyes have grown so dark they appear black, all their softness gone. “You won’t be laughing when I’m through with you.” Newt gestures over Hermann’s shoulder, into the hallway with hordes of anxious people rushing to their stations, or away from them, or who knows where. 

“Hermann, look, if you haven’t noticed we’re dealing with a bit of a crisis.” Hermann nods, his brow grave. 

“Oh, indeed there is. There may, in fact, be several cataclysmic events happening at once, but this one…” He rests his palm against Newt’s burning cheek. “This one requires my immediate attention. You are in dire need of  _ correction _ , Dr. Geiszler."

“Hermann, the  _ drones, _ Hermann. Please.”

“Shao Liwen is a very bright woman, Newton. I’m sure she can get the situation under control in no time. You, however,” he runs his hand up through Newt’s hair, so gently it  _ hurts _ , makes Newt feel again like he’s being ripped apart. “I think you’ll agree that  _ I  _ am the only person truly suited to take you in hand. Now, on your knees.” 

“Hermann, come on, this is ridiculous-”

“On your  _ knees. _ ” Hermann punctuates the last word with a firm tug on Newt’s hair where it grew fullest, at the back of his head. Newt feels something within him give way, whether at the pain itself or the steely tone of Hermann’s voice he does not know, and he falls to his knees without conscious thought. It hurts, somewhere deep inside his head, but it also feels like home. “Good lad.” Hermann soothes him, fingers carding through the hair he’d just pulled, easing the ache.

At this angle, Newt would have to look up over the top of his glasses to see Hermann’s face, so he keeps his head down. The gentle fingers leave his hair and he sees Hermann step backward, planting his cane between his toes. Newt can remember, can picture the look Hermann is giving him now, and the mental image almost compels him to risk a glance. But something keeps him from doing so, some oppressive force  _ other _ than Hermann’s will presses down upon him. Hermann’s cane taps against the ground thoughtfully, and Newt shivers, thinking of all that might come next. 

“Perhaps it would be best if we were to adjourn to somewhere more private.” Newt feels his hands clench into fists against his thighs, his nails biting into the flesh of his palms, but he nods almost imperceptibly. “Show me where.” Hermann extends a hand to help Newton to his feet, and the warm press of skin on skin almost overwhelms him. Something inside him protests, nags that this is a waste of  _ time _ , that Newt has work to do, but it’s just so much easier to do what Hermann says. 

Newt hurries around the corner, saying nothing, leading Hermann to the elevator that will let them skip the stairs and get back up to Newt’s private office. Two frantic young women are stepping off right when they reach it, and Hermann flings his cane out to catch the doors just before they slide closed. Newt breathes a sigh of relief, thinking that if they’d had to wait for it, he might have -- what, come to his senses? The tinny Muzak blaring over the speaker system vibrates in Newt’s teeth, sending a spike of pain between his ears and making him grimace. 

“Which floor, Newton?” Hermann asks insistently, and Newt thumbs the button for his office without thought. He stands frozen for a moment, looking at the glowing blue circle, feeling the creeping unease jab another hook in his overtaxed brain. He’d begged Shao to change the elevator music,  _ anything _ but these pseudo-Asian covers of popular American bullshit, but of course she didn’t listen to him.  _ Nobody  _ listens to him _. _

Hermann’s arms snake around Newt’s chest, Hermann’s wiry strength serving to anchor Newt’s body to Hermann’s in one smooth motion. Hermann’s breath is on Newt’s neck, his voice directly in Newt’s ear, his body warm and solid against his back. 

“Newton, I know you. And you know me. You know I don’t care to see someone else try to encroach upon my territory.” Newt’s hands rise to Hermann’s arm, fighting feebly to push it away, to free himself, but the taller man only holds him tighter. “If you wish for this to end, you may use our safe word.” Newt’s heart stops for a moment. “But I think I know you better than you know yourself, and I don’t expect to hear it today. Breathe for me, Newton.” 

There’s a scrambling panic bubbling up inside of Newt, a scream threatening to break free, but he breathes evenly and thinks hard. He does remember the safe word, and he doesn’t want to say it. He thinks he may have found his chance. But for what?

A sob erupts from his lips then, spurred on by another spike of pain in his head, and the first of his tears slip from his lashes. The elevator chimes overhead, and Hermann releases Newt just as the doors slide open. Newt wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and shoves his glasses back up his nose before slipping out into the hall. They’re close to his office now, and he hurries, not bothering to check that Hermann has kept up. He can almost  _ feel _ where Hermann is, that warm tug at the back of his mind, but he dares not seek the connection. Something blocks the way, something loud and angry. 

A swipe of Newt’s passcard has them inside, and when the lock clicks behind them, the world goes mercifully quiet. His office is large, its walls utilitarian and soundproofed, with a bank of computer monitors on one wall and a sitting area against the other. Directly across from the door, behind Newt’s primary workspace, the wall is floor-to-ceiling glass, currently blacked out with built-in automatic curtains. Newt had them installed when he took possession of the room; the glare of natural light interfered with the holographic displays and gave him a headache.

“Newton.” Newton stands completely still, unable to move, unable to think, only focusing on making sure he can still draw air into his lungs. For some reason he feels like he wants to stop, but Hermann told him to breathe, so he must. “Look at me, Newton.” Newt obeys, and almost gasps at the sight. 

Newt realizes he didn’t really take any time to  _ look _ at Hermann back in Hong Kong before brushing him off, and maybe he’d just figured out why; maybe it hurt too much. Hermann is as tall and slender as ever, but his posture has lost the stooped, plaintive air of just a few days ago. He’s no longer a cringing, desperate ex-lover, (though Newt cannot  _ actually _ remember thinking that about Hermann,) but a calm and confident man who knows  _ exactly _ what he wants and how he will get it. Newt finds him as beautiful as ever in his grubby suit jacket, his grey shirt buttoned all the way to the collar, his ill-fitting pants barely concealing what Newt had felt pressed against him back in the elevator. 

“I said  _ look  _ at  _ me _ .” Newt’s eyes snap back up to Hermann’s face, dyed a rosy pink by his sunglasses. Hermann’s lips purse unhappily and his jaw twitches while he looks Newt over. He gestures dismissively at Newt’s face. “The glasses are absurd. Lose them.” Newt reaches up to take them off, but before he does he hears himself speak.

“No.” Hermann’s chin lifts ever so slightly. 

“No? Do you think that's wise, Newton?” 

“Fuck you.” Newt’s shocked at the sound of his own voice; never in all the time they he was with Hermann, romantically or otherwise, had he ever sounded so  _ hateful _ , even in roleplay. In the blink of an eye, Hermann has his cane held by the bottom end, and he hooks the handle behind Newt’s right knee and pulls hard. The outrageously plush carpet mutes the sound of the impact, but Newt’s teeth click together and his knees are smarting. 

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Geiszler, I do believe you misspoke just now.” Newt grins up at Hermann, unable to keep the malice out of his voice. 

“I said, fuck off, old man.” In three long steps Hermann sweeps behind Newt, grabs the back of his neck, and shoves him forward with all of his strength. It's a good thing Newt had already gotten on his knees, otherwise the fall might have seriously hurt. As it is, he only just catches himself on his hands before hitting the floor with his face. His sunglasses fly off and he reaches for them, but he's met with a sharp rap on the back of his knuckles by the unforgiving wood of Hermann's cane. He sucks air through his teeth and sits back on his haunches to cradle his hand, flexing his fingers enough to determine that he’s sustained no permanent damage. 

“I should think you'd know better than to speak to me like that,” Hermann says as he stalks toward the fallen shades. “You certainly used to. Now, be still.” The command hits Newt with an almost physical force; he places both hands flat on his thighs and fixes his eyes on the floor just to one side of the sunglasses. The position feels so familiar and so comfortable that, despite the sharp pain in his hand and the angry migraine buzzing behind his light-sensitive eyes, Newt breathes a little sigh of relief. 

Hermann resumes his former posture directly in front of Newt. 

“Newton. You need  _ discipline _ , don’t you see?” Newt doesn’t trust himself to speak, but nods without lifting his eyes from the swirling pattern in the rug. In his peripheral vision, he sees one scuffed wingtip rise above the floor, hover for a moment, then pivot to rest a toe on top of the glasses. Newt feels his mouth open to speak, but before he can, Hermann’s weight shifts forward. The frames twist, the lenses splinter, and Newt lets out another choked sob as he feels the break  _ in his head _ . He squeezes his eyes closed, pushing tears down his face as he waits for the pain to ebb. 

Thin fingers ghost across his cheek, wiping one of the tears away, and Newton leans into the touch. Hermann’s thumb trails near the corner of Newt’s mouth, so he parts his lips and turns his head, tongue darting out to taste salt. Hermann’s breath catches, and Newt so badly wants to open his eyes, to look up at that stern, ridiculous, beautiful face, but he is so  _ afraid _ of what Hermann might see in him. Hermann pulls his hand away and steps back. 

“Newton, look at me.” Newt doesn’t move. He wants to tell Hermann that this isn’t part of the game, that he’s not being bratty, that he really just  _ can’t _ , but he had no faith in his own words. He feels the handle of Hermann’s cane, warm from Hermann’s hand, slip beneath his chin, and he lets his face be forced up. “Open your eyes.” Newt shakes his head and keeps his eyes screwed shut. The migraine continues to worsen, almost chattering in his ears. Suddenly, Hermann’s hand is back in his hair, pulling upward almost hard enough to bring Newt back to his feet. His eyes fly open and lock with Hermann’s. 

Newt wants to run away, wants to cry, wants to scream until he has no voice left, but he does none of those things. Instead he looks, really looks, and sees everything he’d been forced to forget. Hermann’s hair has grown longer, the retro-hip hideous bowl cut turned unkempt, and it curls across his forehead in soft little waves. His stunning brown eyes peer at him from behind lashes straight out of an editorial photoshoot. His cheekbones, still sharp enough to cut glass, sit high and regal above that unforgiving mouth. As they’ve aged, Hermann has developed some of the faintest laugh lines. Newt used to delight in drawing out a smile, etching them deeper, but it has been too long; he has forgotten how. Hermann’s lips, so wide and strange and soft and pink, purse in concentration as he searches Newt’s eyes with his own.

“Newton, what has happened to you? Speak to me.” 

“Oh, sorry, can’t handle that I’ve moved on, huh,  _ Herms _ ?” Newt hears himself spit the nickname and immediately wants to take it back. 

“Moved on, have you?” Hermann’s gaze drifts back to the chain around Newt’s neck. “I’m far from convinced.” 

“Yeah well too fucking bad, you selfish prick. I belong to them now.” Hermann’s upper lip pulls back from his teeth, twitching into a positively feral snarl, and he fists his hand in the front of Newt’s shirt, jerking him to his feet. 

“ _ Them _ ? You lied to me, Newton.”

“Hermann, no, I didn’t mean, I didn’t…” Newt chokes on the words, his sudden proximity to Hermann’s lips making it difficult to think coherently. The pain in his head almost blinds him now. Hermann releases him and Newt stumbles back half a step, barely catching his balance before another slap paints the room red. 

“Do not open your foul mouth and repeat your error, Dr. Geiszler. It will only worsen your punishment.” Newt tastes blood; he’d bitten the inside of his lip when Hermann hit him. “Remove your jacket.” Newt’s hurriedly complies, divesting himself of the offending garment and turning to lay it across one of the chairs by his desk. When he turns his back to Hermann, he hears a disgusted noise a second before long fingers grasp him by the back of his vest’s collar. 

“Newton Geiszler, you’ve somehow found the most vile article of clothing I have laid my eyes upon. Remove it as well.” Newt does so, carefully placing it atop his jacket. He turns, nervously unbuttoning his sleeves at the wrist and rolling them up. Words bubble up behind his clenched teeth, but he knows better than to let them escape. Hermann hasn’t given him leave to speak, and this frees him from the burden of choosing whether or not he will. 

“Newton, you will tell me who has attempted to…  _ possess _ you.” Hermann keeps his tone calm and cool, and when Newt opens his mouth to speak, Hermann raises a hand. He quickly closes it again. “But first, I think we must address your bad behavior.” Hermann steps over and pulls aside one of the chairs in front of Newt’s oversized walnut desk. It’s a little ridiculous, Newt has to admit, seeing the gleaming antique monstrosity nestled in among holographic displays for what feels like the first time.

“Place your palms flat atop the desk.” Hermann’s hand slides over the small of Newt’s back, pushing him forward. Newt does as he is told. “Elbows too.” He bends at the waist, laying the length of his forearms against the polished wood. Hermann steps away for a moment, and Newt looks back over his shoulder. Hermann surges forward, gripping the base of Newton’s skull and pressing him downward. “Farther.” Newt slides his hands forward, relaxing his back until his chest is resting against the blotter. Hermann runs a hand down his back, gently enough to make Newt gasp. Hermann’s palm stops short of his ass and he steps back again. 

Hermann makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat that echoes at the base of Newt’s spine. A tap at the inside of Newt’s right ankle urges him to spread his legs further, and when he does his pelvis is brought flush with the edge of the desk.

“Newton, you deliberately lied to me. I think you’ll agree that you were wrong to do so. You still may not speak, except to use our safeword, which you may do at any time. Do you wish to do so?” Newt shakes his head, though the effort of doing so makes his ears ring again. “Then we shall begin.” 

Newt feels Hermann’s hand ghost over his lower back again and cup his ass. The sensation vanishes for a moment, not even long enough for Newt to miss it, and then Hermann replaces it with a warm sting. Newt whimpers, more from surprise than pain, and Hermann  _ tsks _ disapprovingly. 

“Your whining does not become you.” Hermann delivers several more sharp smacks in quick succession, each one causing Newt’s hip to twitch against the edge of the desk, bringing him to a full and aching hardness. 

“Newton, you  _ will _ tell me everything. You will  _ name _ those who have  _ tampered _ with you. Because  _ you  _ are  _ mine. _ ” Hermann punctuates his words with harder and harder slaps, and by the last word Newt has actually let loose a soft cry. His ass feels hot, despite the protection afforded by his clothing. Maybe today wasn’t the best day to forgo underwear, but a man has to sacrifice for the sake of fashion; panty lines would spoil the effect of his artfully tight pants.

Hermann stalks around the side of the desk and settles into Newt’s plush chair. Newt practically salivates at the sight of him: eyes wide and dark, lips parted, hair mussed. Their eyes are locked together, but Newt doesn’t move from his position bent over the desk. 

“Newton, you may speak.” Without a moment’s hesitation, as if he’d been waiting for this, Newt feels the words torn from his lips.

“Well,  _ Herms _ , you know I’ve been trying to get you to meet Alice, of course. You can’t be  _ that _ fucking stupid, even if you are in total denial.” Hermann’s lips grow thin and his chin juts forward. 

“You said  _ them, _ you cheat. I cannot believe this  _ Alice _ has done this to you.” Hermann says the name with a palpable disgust and rises to his feet, bracing himself against the desk with the tips of his fingers. “Despite the fact that the hideously tacky decor is undeniably  _ you _ , I see no evidence of a romantic partner in this room.” He swipes his arm over the top of the desk, which in fact contains no personal artifacts of any kind, sending office supplies scattering to the floor.

“You wouldn’t recognize a meaningful relationship if you saw one.” Newt wonders if he hasn’t tried to convince himself that what he had with Hermann wasn’t serious, can’t remember what happened between them to end it. Hermann flinches, but slips back behind his calculating mask almost quickly enough that Newt thinks he might have imagined it. 

“No, I think I understand what’s taken place here. You’ve allowed yourself to become so  _ desperate  _ for correction that you would - and have - accepted it from  _ anyone. _ ” Newt shakes his head violently but speaks without meaning to yet again. 

“Not anyone, you miserable, lonely old bastard, I fucking told you, I replaced you. You were  _ nothing  _ and Alice is  _ everything. _ ” Hermann narrows his eyes. 

“Shut your mouth.” Newt falls blessedly silent. Hermann’s hands, those long, nimble fingers, fall to his waist. “Lies again, still lies. You forget, Newton, I know you as well as you know yourself.” Newt nods, again reaching for that tiny spark of connection, that hidden spot of his soul that carried a piece of Hermann within him, but the roar in his head gets louder when he tries. 

The sound of Hermann’s belt buckle coming undone threatens to make Newt’s knees give. Only his position atop the desk keeps him upright, and he meets Hermann’s eyes with what he hopes is an appropriately penitent and pleading expression. A tiny smile quirks at the corner of Hermann’s beautiful, sinful mouth, before being replaced by the determined line of a man with a job to do. He whips the leather out of his belt loops quickly enough to make it snap, and Newt’s hips buck involuntarily at the sound.

Hermann lays the belt down next to Newt’s arm and moves around behind him again, leaving his cane behind and supporting his weight with one hand braced on the top of the desk. He slides his hands along Newt’s belt to the front. As he reaches around, his hips press forward, and the hard ridge of his cock fits right into the cleft of Newt’s ass. He unclasps the buckle and flicks open the buttons on his pants before untucking Newt’s shirt. Hermann’s fingers pause when he hooks them beneath the waistband, and his breath is hot in Newt’s ear.

“You filthy little slut,” he whispers as he slides the trousers down over Newt’s bare ass. Newt parts his lips and moans out a little  _ uh-huh _ as Hermann's palms slip over his tender flesh. “Oh, what I wouldn't like to do to you just now, Newton. But we still have work to do, don't we?“ Newt nods again, pressing his forehead against the cool leather of his desk blotter and trying desperately not to groan. He knows that Hermann won't give him more than he can take, knows that this is somehow  _ exactly  _ what he's been missing from his life ever since leaving to work for Shao. 

“Newton, you will tell me who has tried to claim you. Do not lie.” As he speaks, Hermann lifts his belt from the top of the desk. Newt follows its path, craning his head back over his shoulder to stare back as Hermann folds the belt in half and grips the buckle and the free end in his right hand. His fingers twitch erotically as he adjusts his grip, and Newt’s stomach clenches at the clear and sudden memory of all the things those fingers have done to him. But those thoughts are dangerous, and he lays his head back down onto his left forearm as another piercing lance of pain shoots through his skull. 

Hermann leans back onto his good leg, bracing his weight, and pulls back his right hand to take aim. In the seconds before the strike, Newt’s thighs and glutes are trembling in anticipating, flinching back from an impact that has yet to come. Hermann times it perfectly, waiting until Newt has just barely relaxed before laying into him. A series of hits in quick succession, directly across the center of Newt’s ass, have him crying aloud in his conveniently soundproofed office. His cock is trapped between his stomach and the top of the desk, and he moves his hips backward to reach a hand down and palm himself, groaning aloud in relief as his fingers slide through the liquid beaded on the tip.

“Speak, Newton. Who are  _ they _ ?” 

“Can’t you understand anything besides your useless numbers? I already told you, it’s  _ Alice. _ ” This time, his voice breaks on the name, and the admission  _ feels _ more like the truth, but Newt knows it’s still not quite right. Hermann growls, low in his throat, and Newt moans in response. 

“Each time you repeat this nonsense will earn you more punishment. Your dishonesty requires it. Do you understand?” Newton turns back to catch Hermann’s eye again, nodding and panting, grasping himself harder as he does so. Hermann’s eyes flick to Newt’s right, and his teeth clench when he sees that Newt’s hand is no longer where it should be. He slams the belt down on the top of the desk. 

“Did I give you leave to touch yourself?” Shame floods Newt’s chest, but it is a good shame, a familiar one, one that doesn’t carry the weight of actual consequence with it. He shakes his head slowly. Hermann sighs dramatically, and Newt has to suppress a smile even as he feels himself flush deep crimson to the tips of his ears. Hermann grabs Newt's hips and forces Newt to shuffle back, moving his pelvis away from the desk and depriving him of any chance at much-needed friction. 

There is a tugging at the waist of Newt’s pants, now pushed down around his thighs, and Newt’s own belt slips free. Hermann lightly taps Newt’s bare wrist, and Newt obediently brings the offending limb behind his back, palm turned out. Hermann clears his throat, and Newt rests his chest and face fully against the top of the desk to bring his left hand around to join its mate. There is a soft clink and a squeak of leather, and Newt feels a loop slip around both of his wrists and cinch tight. 

The sensation of being physically restrained is so comforting that Newt sighs in relief. Now, there is no chance of him hurting Hermann. Newt doesn’t quite have time to examine this thought before there is the quiet rustle of fabric and Hermann is urging him to lift his head from the desk. A soft wad of fabric is slid beneath Newt’s face; it’s Hermann’s jacket. Hermann has never been anything but thoughtful, even when doling out much-deserved punishment.

These hits come sporadically, Hermann giving Newt more time to breathe in between each strike. Newt knows Hermann is keeping a careful count, cautiously gauging his reaction, ensuring that nothing is ever too much. Newt inhales deeply, feeling the soft wool beneath his cheek, and leans back into the next strike before finding that his voice is his again.

“Them, them, okay, it is  _ them _ , Alice is part of it!” Hermann’s left hand lands atop Newt’s, gently caressing his wrist as he leans his weight into Newt’s back. 

“Name them.” Newt shakes his head, pulling reflexively at the belt around his wrists.

“Can’t, I'm sorry Hermann. Not yet. I need more. They're in my head.” Hermann leans to meet Newt’s eyes. Hermann’s face is a pinched mask of worry, brows furrowed and lips turned downward in concern, despite the bright pink flush that has spread across his cheeks.

“You’re sure, Newton? Are you alright? You can’t just tell me?” Newt’s gasping to hide a sob now, and he shakes his head, scared half to death of the shrieking, chattering, violent noises building strength inside his head. He wonders if Hermann can hear them. Hermann runs his hand up along Newton spine, beneath his shirt, soothing him until his breath calms a bit. “You're doing very well.” But the tenderness in his voice is dangerous, and Newt hears himself snapping back at Hermann once more. 

“You pathetic, crippled, old weakling. You think you can win? You, with your broken leg and your broken heart? You’re not strong enough. None of you are strong enough.” Newt hears his own voice rupture in his throat, splitting into an atonal roar that syncs up with the dissonance in his mind. “You -”

“Silence.” Hermann’s voice is quiet, but firm, cutting him off mid-rant. Newton chokes on the words, fighting back until he can close his teeth around them, but it is too late. He had said something unforgivable; no matter the argument or playful scenario, there was a line he would never cross. Newt closes his eyes, weeping steadily now. He dares not look at Hermann, cannot risk seeing the hurt he had inflicted. This was the thing that Hermann kept closer than anything else, the secret, hidden vulnerability… and Newt had finally violated that trust. 

There is an almost interminable pause, during which Hermann stands so deathly still that Newton almost fears he has somehow left. For a long time, the only sound is Newt’s own muffled sobbing, then the most unimaginable thing happens: Hermann laughs. 

Not much, just a low, rueful chuckle, but it astonishes him so completely that Newt’s eyes fly wide and he levers his body around to gape at Hermann. Hermann is smiling, mirthlessly, and his eyes are furious. Their eyes lock together, but when Hermann speaks, he seems to be speaking past Newt, somehow.

“Oh, that was a  _ very _ good try, but I’m afraid you’ve tipped your hand. You went too far, and your hateful words have betrayed you at last. I’m not confident that I understand the mechanism of how this has happened, but I assure you, it ends today. Newton Geiszler belongs to me.” In spite of his desperation to keep more verbal bile from escaping, Newt's mouth falls open. 

Hermann looks more beautiful than Newt has ever seen him. He stands straight and solid, with his weight braced to one side. Without his jacket, he appears taller and broader still, and far less vulnerable. His grey shirt is wrinkled, but it makes him look more comfortable and confident than sloppy. The oversized shirt conceals shoulders and arms that bear, Newt knows, more wiry muscle than one might expect. His body language communicates calm authority, and he looks to Newton like nothing less than an avenging angel.

“A few more, Newton. Harder, I think.” Newt whimpers and nods before pressing his forehead down into Hermann’s jacket. These hits are indeed harder, but the sensation has moved far beyond pain, into something deeper and more grounding than he could have hoped for. Newt’s mouth is open, breathing in the scent of chalk and tea and Hermann, swimming in pain and confusion and the memory of late nights in their lab. Somehow the biting sting of the belt, administered with such a loving hand, has transcended the splitting pain in his skull, and he finally wills himself to gasp out the truth.

“ _ Precursors!  _ The Hivemind!” As soon as the words leave his mouth, his legs do finally give way. Newt collapses to the floor, just barely turning his fall into a controlled slide to avoid losing a tooth on the edge of the desk. He lies where he fell, legs twisted in his pants and hands still tied behind him, but his physical suffering pales in comparison with all he now understands. The blinding clarity of what he has done and who he has  _ become _ is almost enough to drown out the chittering hivemind without the lingering effect of Hermann’s punishment. 

“Newton, Newton, are you alright?” Hermann kneels on the carpet next to Newt, bodily hauling him into a more natural sitting position. Hermann's hand rests on Newt's neck; Newt fists the fabric of Hermann's shirtsleeve as he fights to make sense of the cacophony in his brain. 

Beyond the hellish swarm, though, he feels the tiny spark of warmth, the weak flicker of his connection to Hermann. Newton feels it now: all the love and hurt and loneliness that the monsters had held hostage. But now that he knows everything, sees everything, he cannot lose this. His body is sluggish, slow to respond, drifting languidly in a haze of endorphins; even the insistent demands of his neglected cock are muted now. But Newt suspects that if they don't keep pushing, they might lose this chance forever. 

“Hermann.” His voice is low, thick, like he's been in a deep sleep. Hermann's face, so close now, has lost its careful confidence, at last revealing all the fear and pain he'd been hiding before. 

“Newton, let me help you. Tell me what you need.” Newt meets Hermann's eyes, blinking through his tears. 

“Hermann, go look in my bottom right desk drawer.” Newt is calm, finally. The demons still live within him, but so does Hermann, and he trusts that Hermann will give him what he needs. 

He always has. 

Hermann pulls himself to his feet, leaning his weight more heavily on the desk after having crouched on the floor. He makes his way around to the far side, and Newt rests his head against the side of the desk, trying to avoid exacerbating the seething blackness bubbling away in his brain. At the sound of the drawer being pulled open, Newt feels himself flush red again; how pathetic do you have to be to jerk off alone in your office? But after a pause, Hermann hums low under his breath, and he sounds  _ pleased _ . 

“Ooh, you sneaky bastard.” His voice is so warm, so positively  _ delighted _ , that his tone is enough to bring Newt’s flagging erection back with a vengeance. Hermann comes back around the desk, cane in one hand and a small bottle of lube in the other. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, you filthy thing?” Hermann’s eyes, crinkled up at the corners, belie his scolding words. 

“Huh-uh,” Newt moans, breathless. Hermann sets the bottle on top of the desk and leans his cane against the chair before kneeling on the floor again, urging him to lean forward. Newt lets his head fall forward while Hermann loosens the belt binding his arms. He lightly caresses Newt’s wrists, and he draws one arm back around slowly. Newt winces slightly at the burn in his shoulders, but brings his other forward to rest on Hermann’s shoulder. Long, delicate fingers trail up Newt’s forearm and trace the swirls of colors embedded in his skin. He turns Newt’s left hand over and leans down to ghost his lips across his pulse point before pressing a kiss to the palm. Hermann raises his eyes to meet Newt’s, and Newt has to fight to keep tears from obscuring this flawless vision. 

“Oh, Newton. Have they kept you all alone?” Hermann looks so sad that Newt is reluctant to answer, but he nods anyway. 

“Nobody but you, Hermann.” Newt croaks. Hermann smiles sadly, tears dancing in his large brown eyes, refusing to fall. “I never want anybody but you.” Hermann blinks once, and a single droplet escapes those doelike lashes, tracing a shimmering path to that beautifully sharp jawline.

“Nor have I, my love. It’s alright now, darling. I’ve got you.” Hermann rests a hand against Newt’s cheek and smiles before rising to his feet, again using the desk to pull himself up. He holds out his hands, leaning back on one leg. “Do you think you can stand back up?” Newt takes the offered assistance, feeling more than a little ridiculous at his half-undressed state. He leans back against the desk to toe his shoes and socks off and shimmy free of his pants before easing himself onto the desk, wincing as the leather blotter presses coolly against the welts on his ass. The pain, while muted, keeps him grounded and prevents him from vanishing back into the alien fog that threatens to engulf him once more. 

When Newt moves to unbutton his shirt, Hermann’s gaze drifts back to the stupid fucking chain holding Newt’s collar down. Another scowl crosses his face, and before Newt can react, Hermann has curled his fingers back beneath the chain and ripped it free. The pins holding it in place tug at the fabric before it gives with a great rending tear, and Hermann throws the offending accessory at the wall behind him before grasping the shirt at both side of Newt’s chest and pulling hard. Buttons fly, and Newt gasps at the bite of cold recycled air against his bare chest and the renewed scream of pain in his head.

But Hermann doesn’t leave Newt in the cold for long. He presses in, wrapping Newt’s bare legs around his waist, hands seemingly everywhere at once. His mouth burns a searing trail across Newt's collarbones, nipping, licking, and sucking his way down Newt's chest. Newt fumbles a couple of Hermann’s buttons open, momentarily stymied by those stupid, adorable reading glasses, but he manages to tug them loose from the chain and set them aside on the desk. Hermann’s teeth find a nipple and he grins at the startled yelp Newt makes before lightly kissing away the pain. 

As Hermann descends further, he presses a hand to Newt's shoulder, urging him to lie back. Newt does, knocking aside his desk organizer and sending more pens sailing to the floor. Hermann grabs Newt's hips and pulls them forward, before guiding one dangling foot to rest on the seat of the chair. He grabs the lube and flips the cap open, a sound that never fails to make Newt tremble. 

Hermann hooks an arm under Newt's left leg, angling Newt's pelvis up. 

“You want me, Newton?”

“Oh, Hermann, please.” Newt props himself up on his elbows as best he can, craning his neck to watch the brilliant mathematician duck lower, between his legs. Hermann catches Newt’s eye once more, smiling a wicked little smile, and lays an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh as two deft fingers caress his hole. Newt groans, the sight alone almost too much to bear, and Hermann smiles again, trailing his tongue along the seam where Newt’s leg meets his body. Just as he presses one slick digit inside, he latches onto the unmarked flesh of Newt’s thigh and sucks  _ hard. _

Newt slumps back to the desk, curling his fingers into the fabric of Hermann’s jacket and crying out aloud. Hermann wastes no time, slipping a second finger inside of Newt and curling them a little. The combined sensations are almost too much to bear; the pain in his ass, the hot tight stretch of Hermann’s fingers inside of him, Hermann’s mouth kissing away the stinging pain left behind where he’d sucked, and the roaring in his brain together threaten to make Newt pass out.

“Hermann, please, I need  _ you _ .” The desperation in his voice spurs Hermann to move. Newt whines when Hermann pulls his fingers out of him, dropping his leg and standing to unbutton his pants. Newt levers himself back up to a sitting position, reaching for Hermann’s shirt. He makes quick work of the rest of the buttons, finally able to pass his hands across the broad expanse of Hermann’s chest. It is warm and all but hairless, and while Hermann slicks up his own cock, Newt dips his tongue into the notch between his sharp, perfect collarbones. Hermann catches him by the chin and lifts Newt’s eyes to his own.

“Newton Geiszler, you have me. You are mine.” Hermann says this softly, calmly, but with that same undercurrent of steel that he uses to make every question a command, every statement a fact. “Aren’t you?” Newt nods, dumbly, though the roar in his his threatens to escalate when he feels Hermann line himself up. Hermann grits his teeth, glaring down his nose at Newt. “Say it.” 

“I’m yours, Hermann.” As he says it, Hermann pushes inside with one smooth, controlled motion. Newt hooks both legs around Hermann’s waist, buries his fingers in Hermann’s hair, and tucks his nose into the hollow of his shoulder. He breathes deeply, adjusting to the sweet heat inside him, and tries again to find their lingering mental connection. It’s there, but still surrounded; the rage of the hivemind has fallen away to a bristling defensive position. Newt doesn’t know quite what to do, but forgets all about it when one of Hermann’s hands finds his cock. 

Hermann strokes him slowly and begins to move, drawing a low and keening whimper out of Newt. He increases his pace, so gradually that Newt almost can’t tell he’s doing it, but all Newt has to do is hold on. The passage of time ceases to have meaning, and before long Newt has lost himself in bucking and moaning, unable to hold back the fevered  _ need _ that is finally being satiated. His hands tangle in Hermann’s hair, skate over his chest, claw at his back, but Hermann stays as controlled as Newt has ever seen him. He shifts Newt’s hips without breaking his rhythm, finally finding just the right angle to nudge against Newt’s prostate with each thrust. Hermann grips Newt tighter, swiping his thumb through the gathered precome at the tip and rubbing it expertly across the frenulum on every stroke.

When Newt feels his climax building, a sort of choking panic overtakes him as the alien presence in his mind rallies for another assault. He shakes his head, pulling back from Hermann and bracing his hands behind himself, trying to find the words to make Hermann stop before something goes horribly wrong. But Hermann, despite the sweat beading on his brow and curling his hair, appears calm when he presses Newt’s forehead to his own and speaks.

“Newton, darling, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ll catch you.” Then, in the split second before it all truly ends, Hermann’s lips find his. The kiss is almost chaste, but it overwhelms him, after all this time. Newt bears a moment of truly blinding agony, but then it fades, burned away by pleasure. Newt moans into Hermann’s mouth as he comes. A heartbeat afterward, he can think clearly enough to realize that the aliens are gone, that he alone occupies his mind, and he almost wails at the terrible, lonely quiet of it, even as he rides out the final throes of his orgasm. Then, Hermann gasps and suddenly the feeble connection between them flares to life again, and Hermann’s hips twitch again, just once, and he empties himself into Newt. 

Their lips remain sealed together, their tongues having found one another with a vulgar sort of abandon. Newt feels everything Hermann does; their loneliness and pain gives way to a sort of echo, deafening and all-encompassing. Hermann finally breaks the kiss, and Newt draws back from the ghost drift as much as he can stand, in order to focus on Hermann’s actual words.

“I love you, I love you, I’m sorry,  _ mein Schatz _ , I should have known, I should have seen, I should have fought harder.” Hermann’s eyes are large, his face flushed prettily, and his hair positively wrecked. Newt thinks he may never have looked better. 

“I love you too, Hermann. I never stopped. I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault.” Hermann kisses him again, and Newt’s abs burn from the effort to stay sitting up in this position, but he doesn’t want to sacrifice even a millimeter of physical proximity to Hermann. 

“It’s alright, Newton. It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. We always do.” They stay like that, kissing and murmuring reassurances, until Hermann slowly pulls out of Newt, who whimpers at the loss of contact and finally slumps back to the desk, keeping one hand on Hermann’s arm. He lets his eyes close, reaching again for the stunningly bright shimmer of the drift. He feels something smooth and soft wiping off his stomach and chest and he smiles a little before he realizes what it is. 

“Hey! That’s my fucking vest, Hermann.” He barely puts effort into his protest, his outrage completely unconvincing, and Hermann laughs a little as he continues. His merriment echoes in Newt’s brain like a little chiming bell. When Newt is clean, Hermann wipes himself off and zips his pants back closed before helping Newt sit up, then stand. Newt’s legs shake, Hermann leans heavily on his cane, and they’re doing a rather poor job of supporting one another, but they make it to the far side of the room. 

Newt flops on the massive couch, face down, and rolls over just enough to let Hermann slide in beneath him. Hermann yanks an uncomfortably rough throw blanket over them, protecting Newt’s mostly nude form from the frigid air. Newt opens his mouth to tell Hermann that he’d bought the blanket just for show, not for use, but the feeling of the soft upholstery, the warmth of Hermann’s chest on his cheek, and his fingers carding through his hair all make him reconsider the effort. Newt’s almost asleep when he feels Hermann shift, pulling something from his pocket, and Newt opens his eyes to see Hermann rather guiltily holding up his phone.

“Just going to make a call or two. It’ll be alright. Sleep, darling.” Hermann’s voice sounds just as exhausted as his own, but Newt decides to take this as another command, and he follows it, gladly.


End file.
